After the Storm
by leaysaye
Summary: Life in Alexandria is peaceful now. The Wolves are defeated and life could be good for our group. But something happened that has changed some of their paths irrevocably. How will they deal? Rick/Daryl, slash
1. Chapter 1

He sits in the cozy window nook of their bedroom and savors the peace. It's barely daybreak, and nobody is in sight in the street down below. He loves the light this early in the day. It feels fresh and unsullied, somehow, newly made and golden. Nothing bad has yet happened on this day, and the light seems to reflect that state of affairs.

If he opened the window now he'd be able to smell the fresh air; free as it is these days of pollutants it's the most delicious thing in the world. He can't wait to get outside. But it's still too early, and there are many things on the agenda before he gets to set a foot out of the door.

Daryl sighs and shifts a little.

Yes, agenda for the day. It's strange how full his days seem now, considering how little changes from one to the next. He doesn't mind any of his duties, not really, but duties they are, all the same. And they are repetitive, even if not easy. No, not easy by a long stretch.

The truth is, the repetitiveness is not the biggest problem. No, that prize goes to the overall despondency that seems to have settled over them. Fighting that mood, keeping the darkness at bay, not just for himself but for them both, is at the same time never-ending and endlessly exhausting.

For most of their group, a certain routine is part of the rediscovery of a safe, more secure life, something to be cherished, never taken for granted. For him and Rick, though, this new routine is nothing like what they expected from their new existence, and not something either of them would have considered worth fighting for before all of this began.

But it's the only life they have, and Daryl is damned if they don't make the best of it, together.

A rustle of the bedsheets draws his attention. He looks over at the bed where Rick is still lying prone, fast asleep. He's familiar enough with his man now to know it'll be a good ten minutes still before Rick wakes up, from that first stirring in the morning. And they have nowhere to be, so he lets him sleep.

Daryl watches the peaceful, so familiar features with tenderness. After all this time he still loves doing this. Sit quietly, study Rick's face, his movements. Him. So very familiar, yet a miracle to Daryl to think of their leader as his. Their leader. His man. Even now, with all that's happened, and forever, if he has anything to do with it. They belong together, him and the former cop. The hunter and the leader. The redneck and…

But that's no accurate description, hasn't been for a long time. Redneck, cop. What does that even mean, in the world now? Leader, or hunter... Who is a leader in this freshly minted democracy? And who needs a hunter when almost all their food comes from scavenging, foraging and their not even so new and innovative crops?

Maybe they need new descriptors for people. Or, maybe, Daryl thinks for the hundredth time or more, people just set entirely too much store by words and what they could mean.

Cos what has happened to them, and what they're living through now, are there really words that can accurately describe that? Their feelings? What they've seen, what they've done. Does listing the sacrifices, the things they've lost, naming the pain all of it has caused, really mean anything, in the end?

Daryl doesn't mind words. He quite likes them, actually. He loves to read, something he's picked up from Merle long ago, and something people always seem to find surprising when he mentions it. But when it comes to solving problems, getting things done, words are as useful as a two-legged horse. Especially when people insist on talking instead of actually doing something about those problems.

He has to admit, though, words have been useful to him in one new and unexpected way since everything changed: they are essential for the checklists by which they now organize their days. Even though their days are routine, the tasks have many aspects. Daryl realized early on that having a list of things to tick off makes the days easier to manage.

It means fewer mistakes are being made, and less suffering has to be endured. With Carol's help he started writing lists for all kinds of things, but now most routine procedures don't need written lists. Daryl still keeps a mental tally, though, and ticks things off as he goes.

Rick is definitely stirring now and Daryl straightens up from where he's sitting comfortably. Wake up, tick. Next, bathroom, getting washed, getting dressed, getting them downstairs. Then making breakfast, eating together. Taking meds and prepping the rest of the morning.

As he goes through that mental list to make sure it's all thought of he gets up and steps over to the bed. He glances down with a half-smile as his lover opens his eyes.

"Mornin'. Sleep ok?"

Rick rubs his face, grunts from behind his hands.

"Yeah, not bad. You?"

He starts pushing himself up. Daryl half shrugs in reply to the question and makes an indistinct noise. Then he bends down to help Rick sit up fully.

A new day has begun.


	2. Chapter 2

_They're on the way back, it's all over. Last walkers dispatched, last villains dealt with. Everyone's safe, for now. As usual Rick and Daryl are the last ones to leave. They get into the only remaining car together. Not even bringing up the rear, now, everyone else's vehicles have long since disappeared over the horizon. It's dark, and they're both tired._

 _Actually, tired is what they were three days ago. They're exhausted. Daryl doesn't think either of them has had more than four hours' sleep in total since it all began, back at the safe zone. When was that, a week ago, more? He honestly can't remember._

 _They're quiet, there's really nothing to say at the moment. What's done is done, and they'll be picking over the events for weeks to come, back home, with those who weren't even there._

 _Back home, is that what it is now? Daryl guesses it is, cos why'd they risk everything for some random place they don't plan to stay at for long, right? He's still not sure what he thinks of that, but he's been unsure about it ever since they got to Alexandria, and his overtired brain is hardly gonna come up with a decision on that question now, so why even think about it?_

 _He looks over at Rick instead. For his lover's sake he'll be glad to get back to what's currently their home, their bed, even if for nothing else. Rick looks exhausted, even worse than Daryl feels. Some anxiety builds in the pit of his stomach suddenly. Is Rick still enough in control to drive? Maybe they should take turns, or hole up somewhere for the night. It's not far, but that's hardly the point._

 _Daryl glances down. Neither of them has bothered with the seatbelt. He wonders vaguely when they fell out of that ingrained habit. Really not far now, maybe just over a mile. They're just cresting a hill Daryl recognizes as one of the last before Alexandria comes into view…_

 _"Rick!"_

 _There it is, in the middle of the road, as if it came out of nowhere. Daryl has time to wonder how it even got here, he's sure they picked these woods clean weeks ago. It's the wrong season, too. There, in their headlights, stands a deer. Might has well be the chupacabra, Daryl's surprise, his fear, wouldn't be any greater._

 _Later, Daryl can't decide whether this would have gone differently had they been less tired. Or had it been daylight. Or had it been him driving. Or…_

 _But he knows it's pointless, wondering. It is what it is, nothing can change it later. And nothing can change it now. It's a deer, in the middle of the road, and Rick swerves to avoid it, cursing. They don't even hit the thing – as far as Daryl knows it's still out there, alive and well – and if that swerve was all there was to it they would have been a bit rattled but fine, all four wheels safely on the road._

 _Of course that's not all there is to it. One of the car's front tires, as far as they can piece it together later, has been nicked by a stray bullet during that last altercation, and from the swerving's added pressure it blows up. As much as Rick tries to keep the car on the road, it's no use. Their momentum carries them into the ditch and from there, suddenly, the ground seems to fall away, and then they're falling, sickeningly fast._

 _Daryl doesn't realize until later that they tip over, that the sick spinning feeling means they come to land upside down. For now all he knows is that the world gives an almighty lurch, that he's thrown around the car, that something stabs him sharply through the top of the head, that he knows nothing._


	3. Chapter 3

"Not too cold? Test it."

"No, it's fine."

"Here."

He hands me a washcloth and I rub my face with it, then my chest, my armpits. I hand it back, he gives me a towel.

"Thanks."

I dry my face, chest, hands. When I look up he stands ready with my t-shirt. I take it from him, pull it on. Shirt next. While I do up the buttons he gets the underpants from the top drawer and shakes them out. Then he kneels down.

"Left first."

I help as much as I can. It's amazing to me still how heavy a leg is when you have to lift it with your hands. He pulls the pants up and over my knees. I look down at his head bent down, and suddenly I have this urge to bury my hands in his thick, dark hair. I don't do it though. He's all business today, and I don't want to break his concentration. God knows, this process is annoying enough for both of us without distraction.

He glances up, catches me looking, and his eyes, far away and preoccupied, soften. He nearly smiles as he straightens up.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

My arms go round his neck as he leans down. His hands are on my hips, steadying me as he pulls me up slowly. He makes sure I'm steady before his hands reach down, pull the boxer shorts all the way up. Works best this way round. I hold on and he pulls up whatever item of clothing needs pulling. We've tried a few different things, this is the easiest, and fastest.

And I'm better on my feet now, my legs will hold me up as long as I have someone to hang on to who knows what they're doing. And nobody knows better than my Daryl. He's had plenty of practice, he as good as refuses anyone else's help. I wouldn't mind any of the others helping, just so he can get a break. But he's not having it, for now, so I've stopped pestering him about it.

We repeat the whole thing with the jeans. As usual I marvel at how strong he is. I find the whole ordeal exhausting, but he doesn't even seem tired after he lifts me four, five times. Bed to bathroom, back to bed, up and down a few times, and we haven't even embarked on the big trip yet.

Last items of clothing, the shoes. He crouches down, puts them on my feet quickly and efficiently. When he straightens up I can tell he's checking his mental list. All done. He doesn't look at me as he tidies things away. Towel and wash cloth go back into the bathroom, so does the bowl with the now cold water. In the beginning I wondered whether he's so conscientious with the tidying up to please me, but now I think it's as much for his own benefit. It gives him a sense of closure, of control, when we're both so helplessly at sea with this whole thing.

"Got any plans today?"

He walks back in from the bathroom. Lucky us, got the room with the en suite. Useful, having been the leader of this rabble once… I pull my mind away from the bitter thoughts, focus back on what he said.

Same question, every day. Same answer, too, but he still asks. Another point on his to do list? Or maybe he's just hopeful that one day I'll change my mind.

"Not really."

"There's a council meeting in the afternoon…"

"No."

"Rick, just cos…"

"I said no, Daryl. Just leave it."

Anyone else would argue, fight me now. In fact they do, all the time. They get indignant, and annoying as fuck. Insist I'm being stubborn and ridiculous. I'd say the same things if I were in their place.

He's not the type, though. He doesn't do arguing. Now he almost cowers, and I know it's cos I used the Cop Voice. I feel sorry for that, I didn't mean to. I can tell he wants to get away desperately, but of course he thinks he can't leave me alone so he never gives in. He's learned to suppress that instinct so completely, nobody else would notice his restlessness. I do, though, I know my hunter.

It makes me feel guilty, cos his instinct is what's kept him alive, kept him at my side through the trials out there. He's always known not to be too trusting. To get away when his gut tells him to. This role he has now, here with me, that's not in his make-up. Not cos he's not good at it, caring for a cripple. He is. He's too loyal to give anything but his best. But it's diminishing him, keeping him away from what he wants to be doing, and I hate that that's my fault.

It all is my fault, really.

He's still not looking at me, just rocks himself on the balls of his feet. Typical sign he's getting ready to bolt, but trying not to. He's looking out of the window, still holding the towel, twisting it over and over.

"Daryl…"

He turns, looks at me fleetingly, and away again.

"Let's go downstairs. Morning's halfway over already."


	4. Chapter 4

These days Daryl doesn't find Rick very heavy. He thinks it's both because he, Daryl, has grown stronger over the last few months, carrying and lifting his lover many times a day, and because Rick has lost weight. Muscle wastage, mostly, but sitting around all day hasn't done his naturally indifferent appetite any favors, either.

Daryl knows he doesn't have to look after Rick all on his own, of course. He's not an idiot, and even if he were slow on the uptake people have told him enough times over the last few months. But he feels it's his duty, so for now, looking after Rick is his job alone, as much as it can be. He can't help it any more than he could help going out looking for Sophia day after day, all that time ago, on the farm. He never uses the word punishment, but sometimes Daryl thinks that it's a bit of that, too. What he's being punished for, or rather, punishing himself for, he isn't entirely sure he can put into words.

When they come down the stairs – Daryl is careful on every step; they've almost fallen a few times in the past, and that's the last thing Daryl wants to do to his man, hurt him more – the wheelchair is where they left it the night before. Daryl lowers Rick into it carefully. Rick can help more now than he could in the beginning, his arms are much stronger. He adjusts his legs himself, then loosens the brake and Daryl steps back. His heavy lifting is done for the moment.

Sometimes he still lifts Rick in and out of the chair during the day, but recently Rick's managed more and more of that himself, at least round the house. He can use his arms to maneuver himself onto the sofa, for example. They've also discovered many useful things in the last couple of months. One of these is a bottle to pee in which allows Rick to go to the bathroom by himself during the day. They keep one downstairs in the guest bathroom, and recently a scavenging crew found another one at a nearby hospital, which now resides by their bed.

Daryl makes a mental note to remind Rick to get out of the chair and onto the sofa for a bit before lunchtime. They sometimes don't remember to adjust Rick's position regularly, and Daryl shudders when he thinks of the sores too much sitting in one place can cause on his lover's bottom and thighs. He knows they need to be more careful; if one of those sores gets infected they might not have access to the right medication.

Rick moves towards the kitchen and Daryl follows. Carol is busy in there, and it's a nice surprise to see her. Usually Daryl and Rick are the only ones left in the house by the time they come down. Rick seems to prefer it that way, but Daryl knows that if he can tolerate anyone then it's Carol. She is to thank for many of the bright ideas that have made their life increasingly more bearable recently. She smiles at Rick now.

"Morning. Coffee?"

"Thanks."

Rick wheels himself to the table and Daryl steps up to the counter to get the plates of toast Carol has prepared for them. When she's around in the morning she always makes them breakfast. As she pours three cups of coffee Daryl can feel her eyes on himself.

"Sleep alright?"

Her voice is low, and he knows he'll have to elaborate a bit more for her than he does for Rick when he asks that question. Carol worries more about him than Rick, Daryl sometimes thinks. Why, he can't fathom. She keeps her eyes on him, so he guesses he must be looking particularly tired or something. He didn't check his appearance in the mirror that morning, he never seems to remember.

He also can't really remember if he slept ok or not. He can barely recall the night now, and has to really think about it before some memory comes back to him. His mind is so busy with their daily routine, and with all things Rick that as long as he himself feels fine he doesn't pay any special attention. He doesn't think there's anything wrong with that, either. Nothing hurts much, all his limbs work, so why waste time worrying?

"Think so, yeah."

And presumably it's true enough. Other than the usual low level tiredness he never seems to really shake these days he feels ok. Not unusually good or bad, which is good enough for him. Even his head doesn't hurt much today. Ever since the accident he's suffered from chronic headaches, but they're manageable so he hardly ever mentions them to anyone.

He now opens the cupboard and takes out Rick's morning medicines. There's a plethora of pills, including painkillers to help with the neuropathic pain from the damaged nerves in the legs, a muscle relaxant to prevent muscle spams which, when given time to develop, can travel up from the paralyzed muscles into his chest, causing severe pain. Other pills are meant to help regulate his bowels, which are a whole story in themselves. Daryl shakes the right pills onto the plate with the toast and, after counting them and finding one missing, rummages in the cupboard for one more bottle.

This last pill is a recent addition. While Rick is now usually able to tell when he needs to empty his bladder the doc thinks it's not quite functioning as it should. It doesn't always seem to empty completely, which has given him a bladder infection. Daryl now knows more about the things that can go wrong with the human body, and how easily, than he ever wanted to.

He carries their two plates over to the table and sits down next to Rick. One thing this whole situation has done for him is that he usually feels properly hungry now. He's often not even aware of it until he sits down for a meal and his stomach starts to grumble like he hasn't eaten in days. Not even out on the road while they traveled towards Washington does he remember having been this ravenous. He guesses it's the regular physical exertion that's helping his appetite. Luckily at the moment there is no danger of a food shortage.

Carol sits down opposite after placing a mug of coffee in front of each of them. For a few moments they are silent while Carol sips her coffee and Rick swallows his pills, grimacing. Then she looks up.

"The council has asked me to extend a formal invitation to you for the meeting today, Rick."

"Carol…"

"They feel it's only courteous, considering what you have done for the community. You have a right to…"

Rick looks as Daryl and scowls.

"I thought you talked to them."

"Rick, I…" Daryl begins, but Rick turns back to Carol and ignores him.

"Tell them thanks, but no thanks."

"Rick…"

"What? Haven't I told them, and you, enough times?!"

"You can't expect…"

"Well, I do expect to be left alone and not be pestered about this again, all right?"

Rick drops his toast and gives Daryl another sideways look, full of disgust this time. Daryl's insides feel heavy with dread. What's Rick going to do now?

"I told you to tell them not to do this anymore. I am not going to sit on the council!"

"They don't listen to me, Rick. And I don't want…"

Daryl quails under Rick's furious stare.

"Oh you don't want? What about me, and what I want, huh?"

Rick glares at him, then maneuvers the wheelchair away from the table. He turns and wheels himself away as fast as he can.

"Just leave me alone…"

His voice sounds tired now and fades as he disappears into the back room, which as communal space doubles as office, library and Judith's play room.

Daryl stares down at his own toast. His stomach has tied itself into a knot and he no longer feels any desire for his breakfast. A well-known, miserable feeling is filling him. He pushes the plate away. Carol looks at him, he can feel her eyes, but he doesn't look back at her. He knows what she wants to say but wishes he knew how to stop her saying it. He just sits, feeling miserable.

"We get it, you know. He's upset, and he's got every reason to be. But we want him to get better, and he won't, if he just stays in here all the time."

Daryl says nothing. They've been over this many times.

"And he shouldn't take his bad mood out on you, he really shouldn't…"

Daryl can't stand to hear any more. He doesn't want to discuss this with Carol. She won't understand. He pushes his chair back.

"You got somewhere to be?" He glances at her.

"No." Carol looks puzzled. "Why?"

"Mind if I go out for a bit? Gotta check something with Aaron…"

He knows she knows it's a lie. He's not been a recruiter since the accident, and he has no reason at all to go and see Aaron. But she nods, looking at him reassuringly.

"I'll stay here. Take as long as you need."

Daryl nods his thanks, then gets up quickly and walks to the front door, trying not to run. He can feel the tears prickling behind his eyelids and wants to be out of the house before he embarrasses himself.


	5. Chapter 5

_He comes to gasping for air. Acrid smoke in his lungs makes him cough hard, then gag before he's even fully aware where he is. A searing pain shoots through him as he hacks and splutters, and he tries to curl up around his burning chest._

 _He opens his eyes but can't see enough to make sense of anything. Something sticky is stinging in his eyes and blurring his vision. Daryl moves his head slowly, and a sharp pain to his neck and shoulder, followed by a feeling of vertigo, makes him wish immediately he hadn't. He puts his forehead down, panting, waiting for the world to stop spinning, the queasy feeling in his gut to pass._

 _After a moment he coughs again. The smoke pervading the car is getting thicker. He tries again to lift his head. He can see the outline of his surroundings vaguely in the dim moonlight. What he sees makes him want to pass out again._

 _The car is upside down, and he's on his front on what used to be the ceiling. Something dark blocks half of the rectangle he recognizes as the driver's side front window, and with a jolt he realizes that the something dark is Rick, and he isn't moving._

 _"Rick…"_

 _Daryl coughs painfully from that one croaky word. The acrid feeling of the air is hot and slimy in his throat, and he gags again. His brain is sluggish and it takes him a moment to understand that what makes him cough is smoke, so there's a fire and they need to get out. He tries looking behind him to see if there's an escape route. The back passenger window is close by his feet and the splintered pane of glass is hanging on the frame by a thread._

 _He pushes himself back, testing limbs as he goes. His legs feel ok, but his left arm is painful and numb from the shoulder down, and he can feel his shirt sticking to his chest on that side. No matter. Get them out, first, then he can worry about all of that. He kicks the glass aside and waits a few moments, listening. Nothing is moving outside. They have been lucky at least with that. No walkers seem to be lurking._

 _Daryl pushes himself out of the car. He has to go slow, his shoulder and side are agony, and his head is throbbing. When he's free of the window he uses his hands to swivel around awkwardly until he's sitting up, hunched over. The palms of his hands sting with shards of glass and he brushes them on his pants with a hiss. When he examines them blood is beading from several places._

 _No time to lose. If there's a fire they need to put some distance between themselves and the wreck. He slowly, laboriously clambers to his feet. Dark blood is seeping between his fingers and he can see bloody hand prints on everything he touches. Daryl feels queasy from the sight, but presses on._

 _Upright, or close enough, and he hurries round the back of the vehicle. The acrid smoke, he can see it now, is coming from the engine. No flames visible yet, at least._

 _Getting back down to the ground on the driver's side is harder almost than getting up was a moment ago. He groans, forced to stop for a moment as lights dance before his eyes. He puts a hand against the left side of his chest. It burns like fire, and when he snatches his hand away it's bloodier than it was. The pain in his side increases with every breath._

 _He ignores it, bends low, peers into the car to where his lover is still lying motionless._

 _"Rick!"_

 _Daryl's voice sounds rough to himself, rougher even than usual. He coughs, he can't help it, and another sharp pain shoots through his ribs. The cough feels awful, too, like all the tissue in his lungs is threatening to come unstuck at once. It doesn't subside for a long moment, and Daryl is panting for air soon. When the spasms finally stop he needs a moment to get enough oxygen back into his blood before he can move again. Every breath rattles painfully after that._

 _There's no movement, no response from Rick. Daryl leans through the window, one hand pressed to his ribs. He's as good as blind in here and has to judge the situation by touch alone. He gropes for Rick's shoulders, letting go of his own chest to try and get a grip. He finally manages, then pulls hard._

 _The exertion nearly knocks him flat. Rick's lifeless form is heavy, and Daryl's left arm is both numb and on fire by the end. But, at least, Rick is free of the wreck. Daryl lets himself slump to the ground, panting. He studies his lover's face. Nothing worse visible than a bruise to the left temple, as far as he can tell in the moonlight._

 _He feels for a pulse and lets out a painful breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he finds it, strong under his fingers. Daryl places a hand on Rick's chest. Rick is breathing, shallowly, but breathing. Why is he still unconscious?_

 _They need to get away from the wreck. The smoke is still painful in Daryl's throat, and they're lucky the fire hasn't expanded beyond the engine yet. Never mind they're lucky nothing has discovered them yet, injured and exposed by the side of the road._

 _Daryl considers. He can get his man the last mile or so to Alexandria, unconscious or awake. But he's hurting bad himself now, and if Rick were conscious at least he could help a little, maybe even walk. Daryl pulls Rick a few more yards up the bank, to get them away from immediate danger. The effort is considerable, and his ribs throb with every heartbeat. Better rest a little before tackling the road._

 _After a few moments' contemplation Daryl pulls Rick up the bank they came down as far as he can, then sinks to his knees. He cradles Rick's head in his lap and looks his lover over critically. Aside from the bruise to his head there really is no injury that he can see. He thinks maybe the angle of Rick's legs looks odd, but he can't be sure in the half light. There's no blood, and no tear in his clothing. No obvious wounds, so he dismisses his worry._

 _As Daryl straightens up a little from where he's bent over Rick a sharp pain shoots through his side again and he groans. He presses his right hand on the left side of his ribcage, and he feels wetness seep through his fingers, and a ripped shirt. The touch stings and burns now, and he quickly lets go. Instead he cradles his left arm against his chest as his shoulder throbs more insistently, feeling numb and hot. A strange spasm shivers through him every so often._

 _Daryl slumps over, curls up on himself and makes his body as small as it will go, carefully keeping Rick at the centre of his attention. He wishes they were home now more than anything, but he knows the worst hasn't even started yet. With every moment of Rick's unconsciousness Daryl's worry grows. He rocks them both slightly, for comfort as much as for staying awake. He knows he mustn't let his guard down, mustn't drop off, but the longer he sits there, hunched on the side of the road, the harder it is to remember why he shouldn't._


	6. Chapter 6

That was wrong, I know it was. This isn't his fault, but when they all keep pushing and pushing I get so overwhelmed, and I'm ashamed of it, but I take it out on him, more often than not. Why, I'm not sure. He's the one reason I haven't given in to the darkness. He's my anchor, my one constant. He pulls me back when things get too much.

But sometimes that's it. He's there, always, and when it hits, or they push me over the edge he's right there, laid bare, vulnerable, and so close. Cos he doesn't dare leave me, and he gives his all, his entire self, up to helping me. Sometimes I wish he didn't, and increasingly often I feel it's just too much, for us both. Like right now. And that, again, rips me to pieces.

It's been so hard on everyone, and yeah, it's hard on me. But sometimes I think it's hardest for him. Cos he doesn't do things by halves, and he can lose himself in a task so completely there's nothing left at the end. I don't really have a choice in the matter, so I just go through the days as they come. Mostly, I do whatever I want, or I don't do it, if I don't feel like it. Like with the council.

Whatever I decide to do, in the end, they just let me do it, and everyone just thinks I'm brave, and somehow extraordinary, even if I'm just being boring, or weak. Suddenly just _being_ seems to impress people. But nobody really seems very impressed with what he's doing, and what he's had to give up to do it. Sure, they'll all say they'll help, and they probably would, if he let them. But rather than realizing that him refusing all their offers doesn't mean he's handling this well but actually should set off alarm bells all around they've just stopped offering.

I've not been forceful enough, I can see that now. It's been so convenient, and flattering, and a nice feeling, that he's devoted himself so totally. But it can't go on, things will have to change, now. I _can't_ let it go on. It's hurting him, it's hurting us. What we were, what we thought we would be, once we were safe…

I know she's there before she speaks. Carol has this presence, this command of a room, a situation she walks into. Has she always had it? I don't think so, but it's serving her well now. People listen to her. The council listens. I listen, and I'm really no good at taking advice.

"That was shitty, Rick. But you know that yourself."

Course I do, but hearing it from someone else makes it worse. I feel scolded, feel like she's talking to me as she would to Sam. I bristle. I don't blame her, I deserve it. I'm being childish. I keep quiet, with some effort.

"He's only trying to help," she continues. I have to bite my tongue at that. Like I don't know that. He's helping in ways they have no idea about, none of them. But I know I need to hear it from her, it makes the next step easier.

"And he knows you better than you give him credit for. He keeps mentioning the council, and he comes and talks to us, because he knows you need to be involved with it. You need something to do, Rick. You're not made to just sit on your backside all day…"

I scoff at that, I can't help it. I stare out of the window and don't move. Tears are burning at the back of my throat, choking me. I don't dare blink, or swallow, or they'll spill over, I know they will. These days I'm made for nothing _but_ sitting around. I think she chose her words on purpose. Nothing is accidental with Carol.

"Rick, he loves you. More than anything. That's why he's still here. Do you think he'd do this for anyone else? But you're being ungrateful…"

Now that's not fair. I am grateful, more than anyone could ever imagine. I think she's just trying to get a reaction out of me, so I don't say anything. She continues, goes for the kill, as I knew she would.

"I know you love him too…"

"More than you'll ever know."

There, she got what she wanted. I couldn't help it, that just came out. There's a small pause. Then…

"If that's so, Rick, you need to show him. It's your turn. Let him know his hard work's not being wasted. _Do something._ "

The last bit comes out with force. I nod, look down at my lap, my useless legs, the chair. I hate that view!

"I will, Carol. I will do something, and soon."


	7. Chapter 7

_It's been an hour, maybe? Maybe longer, he thinks he lost some time somewhere… he has a feeling he nodded off. He's so exhausted, and his head is agony. Rick hasn't moved. He's breathing steadily, shallowly, his heart is beating, Daryl checks him every few minutes. He's tried to rouse his lover a few times, shouted at him, shaken him hard. All to no avail. No walkers have stumbled by, and nothing, absolutely nothing has happened._

 _Daryl is pretty sure he's in shock, he can't explain his inertia any other way. He's almost glad for now to just sit here, numb, still. But it's getting cold now. He's started to shiver, and is now shaking hard enough to make his teeth chatter. The trembling makes his ribs and head hurt more, and he knows it's time to move._

 _But Daryl doesn't, not for another few minutes. He tries to decide how best to do this, how to carry Rick. His ribs hurt so much now he finds just drawing breath increasingly difficult. He might be able to carry Rick over his right shoulder, maybe? But with his head the state he's in Daryl doubts he'll have balance enough to pull that off without falling. Besides, Rick's head would hang down, and with that head wound that might cause more damage._

 _He puts a hand on Rick's chest again, presses down hard. Oh why can't he just wake up? Everything would be so much easier then._

 _In the end he lifts Rick in his arms, plain and simple. It takes him a long time to get them off the ground, his legs are cold and stiff, and an unconscious Rick is awkward to lift. It's also excruciatingly painful, supporting his lover's legs with his injured left arm, but Daryl bites down hard on his lower lip. He can taste blood right away, but there's nothing for it, so why complain._

 _Finally upright and mobile, and he knows this will take all night. He can manage about fifty or sixty yards before he needs to stop for minutes at a time, rest, readjust Rick in his arms. Every 200 yards or so he needs to stop properly and put the unconscious man down. Even though that whole procedure is exhausting in itself Daryl finds it impossible to walk more than that in one stretch. He his shaky, hurting too much to go on without a break._

 _He's just struggled back to his feet after such a break for the third time or so, wondering dully how long he'll be able to keep going before he passes out, cos he knows that's gonna happen, and soon. There's the sound of an engine, not far ahead of them. It's impossible for Daryl to judge distances in his throbbing head, and he's unsure what to do. How likely is it that the car he can hear means a threat? He can't make up his mind, just stands still, holds Rick, listens. He knows he's not thinking clearly, but he can't do anything about it._

 _Headlights appear round the bend in the road just ahead. Daryl squints, groans at the sudden brightness, the knives slicing into his head. The car stops, two figures emerge. Daryl knows they look familiar but just now doesn't know why. He takes a tentative step sideways, staggers, almost loses his balance. The figures are rushing at him._

 _"No…"_

 _His voice is no more than a hoarse whisper. He tries to back away, stumbles for real now, goes down hard. Daryl loses track of things momentarily, can't even blink, can't breathe._

 _"Abe, it's them. Quick!"_

 _"'m here. Daryl, let go, it's ok, 's me, Glenn's here too. Glenn… Rick's out flat. I got him. No, Daryl, lemme… there. You ok with him?"_

 _"Sure… Daryl, it's Glenn. It's ok now, we got you. Look at me, man. You ok?"_

 _Daryl tries to focus on the man right in front of his face. He's blurred at the edges, but deep down Daryl knows he's no threat. He nods slowly._

 _"'m fine. 's Rick, he's hurt. Help… help him…"_

 _"We are, Abe's got him. Daryl, we gotta get you back. Can you stand up?"_

 _Daryl nods again, even though he's not sure. His throat is so dry, he feels sick. He can't swallow the spit pooling in his mouth now. It makes him gag, shudder. He coughs weakly. His chest hurts so much._

 _"Hurts… Glenn? 'sthat you? Where's Rick?"_

 _"He's fine, Daryl. Abraham is here with me. We came to find you…"_

 _Another cough shakes Daryl hard and Glenn catches him as he slumps over in pain. Daryl clings to the other man, shaking._

 _"Here, drink some water."_

 _A bottle is being held against his lips and Daryl swallows as Glenn tips it carefully. A lot of the cool liquid runs down his chin, he can't hold still enough to prevent that happening, he's shaking so much. The bottle disappears and Daryl can see Glenn study him carefully. His face looks worried._

 _"Daryl, how bad are you hurt? You don't look good… Can we try and get you up? You need the doc…"_

 _"'m fine, 's Rick needs help. Can manage…"_

 _Daryl tries to push himself up, gets halfway. Then he slumps hard against Glenn, groaning, holding his ribs. A searing, sickening pain shoots through his head, his side, his entire body. He groans again, holds on to Glenn harder, lowers his head as the other man supports him, pulls him to his feet the best he can._

 _His ears are stuffed with cotton wool, there's a strange humming noise. He can taste bile at the back of his throat, wonders vaguely whether he'll be sick._

 _Daryl looks up in time to see Abe coming towards them. He thinks the red-haired man is calling something, but he can't hear what it is. He wonders why Abe's not speaking up, wants to tell him he can't hear him, but before he can do so the world suddenly lurches and he staggers._

 _Abe's hurrying now, and Glenn is fighting to hold him up. Daryl can tell he's no longer in control of his own body. He knows his legs are giving way. The last thing he feels is Abe's arms around him as the taller man catches him before he can hit the ground. He's vaguely grateful, then everything goes black._


	8. Chapter 8

He comes back after thirty minutes. He felt guilty after ten, but couldn't face the house just yet. He'd not gone anywhere, really, just up the little path between the two properties their group still share.

There's a blind spot back there, between the wall and the garden shed at the back of the corner house. As far as Daryl knows nobody can see that spot, not from the houses, the guard tower or any other vantage point he's ever tried. He knows Enid hides there sometimes, recently more often than not with Carl. Daryl's never shared their secret hideout with anyone, and has used it himself a few times, when he needed to decompress for a bit, but didn't have the time to leave Alexandria.

Just now he paced the small space for a while, smoking a cigarette, then lighting another but just crumbling it between his fingers. His tears never really spilled over on this occasion, and he's grateful. Not that he minds crying, or thinks it's a sign of weakness. He's cried plenty in the last few months, and a fair few times in front of people. But Rick can always tell when there've been tears, and right now he just wants to go back to the house and not even mention what led to their fight for the rest of the day.

When he enters the house through the front door he feels subdued but no longer angry. Rick didn't mean to hurt him, it's a visceral reaction, Daryl knows that. Frustration with his own impossible situation sometimes bubbles over, and he has no outlet for it, and no prospect of ever recovering from what the doctor thinks is paralysis below the T9 or T10 Thoracic vertebra. His condition improved with time, especially early on, but as things are now, the doc is quite certain, is as good as it's likely ever gonna get.

And really, Daryl thinks, Rick snapping at him today is his own fault. He'd brought the council up again, and hadn't done what Rick wanted. And he won't do it, he's still adamant about that. Daryl has no intention of supporting his lover's wish, which amounts to a blanket refusal of ever again being involved with the government of Alexandria. But Daryl knows, his own refusal to convince the council of this means that sometimes he and Rick will have disagreements, at least until Rick changes his mind. Daryl will just have to learn to deal with it. Grow some thick skin already, Dixon!

Carol is in the kitchen, making lunch. Daryl is grateful Carol is there. It means some of his work has been taken off his hands for the day, whether he wants it to be or not. Carol genuinely likes cooking for people, and Daryl tries not to feel too guilty when she takes over that duty for a day.

Maybe, Daryl thinks, he and Rick can use the spare time that afternoon and go out on a foray together. It might not be the wisest thing they do, taking a paralyzed man out into this dangerous world, but Rick is at least sometimes up for it, so Daryl has decided not to let the dangers worry him too much. Anything Rick is still willing to do needs to be supported. And on a day when they had a disagreement Rick might feel guilty enough to give in quickly to Daryl's pleas.

"He in the library?"

It's a joke between all of the inhabitants of the house, coming up with grand names for that multi-purpose room. Sometimes it's the oval office or the ballroom. Right now, library is a favorite.

"He is. Daryl…" She sounds apprehensive and he stops mid-turn to the back room. "He's in a funny mood. Don't let him push you around, ok?"

Carol looks so worried Daryl actually feels touched. He gives her a quick half-smile. "I won't. Don' worry, 'm used to it…"

She looks like she wants to say something more, but then doesn't. He thinks he knows what she's holding back. They all think that Rick takes Daryl's help too much for granted. What they don't seem to ever remember is that Daryl fights tooth and nail whenever someone, Rick included, suggests that he let someone else take over some of his lover's care. It's not Rick who wants this arrangement to stay the way it is, it's Daryl.

He doesn't need constant thanks or even acknowledgement for doing his duty by the man he loves. It's his job, and it always will be, no buts and ifs. Just his responsibility. Daryl could no less decide to stop breathing as decide not to be at Rick's side every step of the way for however long they have been granted to live.

Daryl glances through the open door to the back room, then enters. He know his lover is aware of his presence even though he gives no indication anyone else could spot. He is sitting with the back to the door, facing the window, hands in his lap. Daryl thinks he's probably not moved since he came in here after their argument. He's never known anyone who can sit as still as Rick for such extended lengths of time. Just watching him do it can make Daryl antsy. He makes a mental note to coax Rick out of this room and get him to stretch out on the sofa as soon as possible, to ward off another incidence of pressure sores.

Daryl says nothing for a moment, just looks over at Rick. He finds his lover looking oddly shrunken in his wheelchair lately. Rick isn't saying anything either, and Daryl is starting to get restless. The silent treatment isn't usually Rick's way of punishing him, but if he's annoyed enough…

"I think it would be good for both of us if we spent some time apart."

Daryl's heart seems to stop beating, the world lurches to a halt. Surely he misheard? What did Rick just say? Where did that come from? It doesn't make sense… His mind is racing, his brain refuses to even contemplate taking this in. Daryl swallows, his mouth is so dry his tongue feels like sandpaper, but he knows he has to speak.

"Wha… what d'ya mean?"

Daryl takes another step into the room but Rick half looks over his shoulder, shakes his head jerkily.

"What I said. We won't see each other for a while. I want you to move out, today."

Daryl is reeling, he grips the doorframe for balance. His heart is hammering wildly now, he feels dizzy, close to fainting.

"Rick, no…"

Rick turns his face back towards the window. Surely this is a cruel joke? Daryl feels sick to his stomach. He swallows with difficulty, tastes bile.

He's stuck to the spot. Doesn't know what to do, say. Why is Rick doing this? His man. His Rick. Would he do this, if he were truly his? To punish him, maybe…

Suddenly, Daryl feels hate bubble up, like acid, burning his insides. He's aware how much he's shaking only when he lets go of the doorframe, turns around. Staggers on the first couple of steps. Then he increases his stride, is hardly aware of the room flashing by, of Carol coming closer, face creased in worry. He steps around her, avoids her eyes, is by the door before she can even speak. Yanks the door open and hurries through.

"Daryl, what ha…"

The door falls shut. He's standing on the porch, breathing heavily, sucking air into his lungs like he's drowning. There's a rushing noise in his ears, it swells and abates in sickening waves. He's still shaking, so deep inside his muscles it's hurting all over.

Daryl starts moving without conscious thought. He's down the steps and on the pavement. He's hurrying down the road. By the time he reaches the gates he's running as if for his life.


	9. Chapter 9

_"Rick… where's… Rick…"_

 _"Daryl, it's ok… hold him… no, don't, Daryl! He's fine, Rick's fine…"_

 _"Lemme… no… he needs… Gotta go, no… he needs me…"_

 _"Daryl hold still! He's fine, Rick's fine. Let's look at you, you're hurt… ow! Hold him, dammit! No… no good, he's not… hang on. Tara, get the syringe… Daryl stop, please, it's ok… you're ok now, both of you…"_

 _"No… don'… no… 'm gonna…"_

 _"Dammit! No good, hang on… Tara, get the basin… no, no good."_

 _"Don't worry, doc, I got him… Daryl, love, I got ya, hold on to me, that's it… shhh…. You're gonna be fine, shhh…"_

 _"Dear lord, what a mess…"_


	10. Chapter 10

He doesn't know how long he's been outside the walls, but it's way past nightfall when he returns. He hadn't realized for several hours, but he left the safe zone without any weapons. It turns out not to be a problem. Scouts monitor the area day and night now. Nothing like a huge walker herd threatening your very existence to really focus the mind. Daryl doesn't encounter a group of walkers larger than three, and he dodges them all easily. He briefly contemplates killing one of them with his bare hands, but what's the point? Who would he impress? Who even cares?

Daryl just walks. It's a mild spring day, not too warm, not cold. He drifts, pays scant attention to where his feet are taking him. Road, forest, meadows. Sometimes he stumbles cos his focus is so entirely turned inwards, on the numbness that engulfs him, he genuinely doesn't know what his feet are doing.

Once, he falls. He makes no effort to prevent it, lets himself crash down hard, with enough force to make his bones rattle, to bite his tongue. He tastes blood, gags. Spits it out. Stays down. His head is throbbing, the fall has pushed him over the edge from just pressure behind his eyes, which it always is now, to a full-blown headache. He doesn't care.

He's got no food, nor water, and makes no attempt to get either. It doesn't even cross his mind, until much later, when going without them all day is causing him problems. Out there, stumbling around aimlessly, he feels no hunger, no thirst. He feels nothing. He's just numb. The one thing that fills him up, churns in his gut, twists his stomach into knots, pounds through his head and echoes in his weary bones is a question.

Why?

Why? Why? Why?

He doesn't even look for an answer, instinctively knows there is none. None that will make sense, anyway.

He just walks.

The sun isn't hot, but it's out all day. At first it's weak, but with the mounting exhaustion it seems to grow hotter, heats him up. Glares in his eyes, makes them water. He cries, but hardly knows it. As the sun sets it still burns in him. It's him that's burning now, from the inside, like a furnace. He staggers, stumbles on every other step now. He knows he'll not be able to go on for much longer. Eventually, his body will just stop moving, and the realization that he has no choice in that matter makes him feel angry. He stops in the middle of a road, licks his cracked lips, looks up. He knows where he is.

Briefly he contemplates just staying out here for the night. Let them worry. Only the infernally depressing realization that nobody will even give a fuck makes him turn back towards home. He's lost the edge. He's grown too used to being safe when he goes to sleep, and the thought of staying out for the night makes him nervous. Tail between your legs, get yourself back behind the safety of the walls before the last light in Alexandria goes out.

But where to go? Course, virtually anyone would put him up for the night. But he's not too keen on most of their company. Other than his own group there are really only two people he has more than a fleeting connection with.

It takes a couple minutes before there's movement behind the door. The hall light clicks on, then the door swings open. Daryl squints at the sudden brightness. He can barely make out Aaron's silhouette.

"Daryl? I didn't expect… Hey, you all right… Whoa, easy there…"

All of a sudden Daryl knows he's not all right. His vision blurs and he staggers, tries to catch himself on the doorframe with one hand but misses. Aaron steps close and manages to catch him just in time, else he would have gone down.

"Eric! Give me a hand, will you?"

The next few minutes are a jumble in Daryl's head. Lights and colors are sickeningly spinning before his eyes, and only when the two men have lowered him carefully onto a sofa and prop him up with cushions does he somewhat get his bearings. When he looks up there's Eric, holding a glass of water. Daryl reaches for the glass and Eric gives it to him almost reluctantly, like he suddenly doubts it's a good idea.

Aaron sits down on the edge of the sofa and faces Daryl. He motions at the water he is now holding like he doesn't know what to do with it. "Drink this, but slowly. You're dehydrated."

Daryl brings the glass to his lips and downs it in one. He hardly knows what he's doing, but his thirst is hardly even affected by the water rushing down his throat.

"Hey! What did you do that for?"

Aaron tries to take the glass from him but Daryl only lets it go when he has drained it to the last drop. Aaron stares at him, exasperated.

"That was dumb, and you know it…"

He glances at Eric who nods and disappears. Daryl looks at Aaron and only slowly realizes where he is and what's happening. What he's just done. He's been on autopilot, anesthetized, since that morning, and now the numbness is starting to wear off.

His stomach is churning at the memory of what happened and, as they all knew it would, rebelling against the water he just chugged down like a madman. Daryl tries to struggle up from the depth of the sofa, knows he only has seconds to get to the bathroom. Aaron sighs, puts a hand gently on his chest and holds him back.

"Stay still, you'll be ok."

"Aaron, lemme go… 'm gonna be sick…"

Aaron turns around just as Eric reappears and takes a metal basin from him.

"I know you are."

He helps Daryl sit up a little and Daryl grabs for the basin just in time. His stomach cramps painfully and the water comes back up in a rush. It's still cold, and it makes his throat spasm. He retches again, can't seem to stop now he's started. The water is all gone, but somehow there's always bile to vomit up. Daryl winces as the stomach acid burns his throat.

As soon as he thinks it safe Daryl sinks back shakily. He feels so weak, even breathing feels like a chore now. Hunching over has made him feel sore and achy and he presses a hand to his middle hard, groaning.

Aaron has disappeared with the basin but is back quickly. He sits back down by Daryl's side and gently places a wet cloth on his burning forehead. Daryl sighs at the cool, soothing sensation. They don't speak for a moment, Daryl just keeps his eyes closed, savors the rest he hadn't realized he was so desperate for. Aaron turns the cloth over, wipes Daryl's face and Daryl lowers his eyes, tears suddenly prickling behind them. Only Rick has ever been this gentle with him.

"What happened, Daryl?"

Aaron's voice is low, gentle. Daryl casts a look at him from the corner of his eye, blinking away the tears furiously.

"Can I stay wi' y'two?"

Aaron nods immediately; his eyes on Daryl are sad. "Course you can, as long as you want. But why, what's going on?"

Daryl stares at the dark window. He feels a single tear spill over, roll down his face.

"He doesn' love me anymore."


	11. Chapter 11

_The first thing he's aware of when he wakes again are voices. There are several, and they are talking quietly. The next thing that penetrates his fogged mind is pain. It's not as blinding, agonizing, awful as it was when he woke up back in Alexandria the first time, but it's still bad enough to elicit a low moan. He opens his eyes to a foggy, unfocused world._

 _The voices have ceased and Daryl hears footsteps to his right. He turns his head gingerly and sees the doctor, a blond woman in her thirties. Tara is a step behind her. The doc smiles down at him._

 _"Welcome back. How're you feeling?"_

 _Daryl isn't interested in answering that question. He's already trying to roll over onto his right side, which doesn't seem to hurt as much as the left. He's too uncoordinated and groggy to make much headway and the doc easily manages to hold him back with one hand._

 _"Where you think you're going, huh?"_

 _"Rick," Daryl manages to croak, trying, and failing, to push the hand off of him that is holding him down._

 _Tara steps forward and sits down by Daryl's side. She takes both his hands in hers and holds him fast, but gently._

 _"Daryl, look at me."_

 _His eyes, which have been flitting around the room, trying to locate Rick or, failing that, an exit, focus on her. She smiles at him calmly._

 _"That's better. Rick's just next door, Daryl. No need to panic, you're both safe. Ok? You got me?"_

 _He nods slowly, feeling strangely calmed by Tara's firm grip on him. His brain comes back online slowly._

 _"He ok? Has he woken up yet?"_

 _Tara's eyes flick to the doctor, who steps back into Daryl's field of vision._

 _"It's very early days yet…"_

 _Daryl's heartrate speeds up, making his ribs throb. He tries to squirm away from Tara, wants nothing more than get up and go to his lover's side, the sense of danger deeply rooted in his gut._

 _"Is he ok?" he repeats._

 _The doc hesitates, looks him up and down and seems to decide she needs to give him something to prevent him from jumping out of bed. She takes a deep breath._

 _"Rick is awake, yes. He's resting, and we have to wait and see…" She quails under Daryl's furious stare and hurries on as he tries to disentangle himself from Tara again. "All right, all right, listen, Daryl. Rick has sustained injuries to his spine. At the moment we don't yet know how bad it is, but there is definitely some paralysis. Currently, he can't move his legs. Only time will tell if that is ever going to change again."_


	12. Chapter 12

"That it, there anything else you need?"

"Not for now, thanks, Abe."

"Sure thing. Just call, ok? Anything at all, I'll be right outside in the living room."

"Thanks man. I appreciate it, I really do."

Abe walks to the door, then hesitates and turns round. "You sure you can manage? I don't mind, y'know…" He gestures at my chair, the bed.

"It's fine, Abe, really. So long as I'm down here and have this."

I pat the chair, try to smile. I'm not sure I do very well, but he seems satisfied enough. He nods reluctantly, then leaves.

I look at the bed Abe has just set up for me in the library cum playroom. It's a spare bed, a single he found in the attic of one of the other houses. It'll do just fine.

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in."

It's Carol backing into the room, bringing another basket with my things. Underwear, from what I can see. I feel a small stab of regret when I think of Daryl handling my things. He would have been the last person to touch all these items Carol is bringing as per my request. He's so patient at tidying our room, and I would watch him do it, and feel a strange contentment… I wrench my mind away.

"Thanks, Carol. Just put it on the desk with the boxes. We can think about drawers and everything later."

She gives me that looks she's been giving me all day, ever since he rushed from the house. She puts the basket down, then perches on the table uninvited, arms crossed. Great, another lecture. I rub my eyes. It's late, I just want to go to sleep.

"What, Carol?"

"You know that nobody has seen him since this morning, right?"

I hadn't known that, actually. I assumed he was at the other house. I look up, and Carol's eyes meet mine.

"Well, I told him to leave, seems that's what he did."

It rents me apart on the inside, pretending not to care. It's part of my plan, letting them all think I'm done with him, but it kills me, cos nothing could be further from the truth. If he hates me maybe he'll get over us sooner. And if the others hate me maybe they'll finally leave me alone. I don't hold out much hope on the latter, but overall this has been the best I could come up with, so for now I'll just run with it. Hah, run…

It seems to work on Carol, at least. She looks at me with disgust. If a look could kill I'd slump over dead.

"Well, if that's it for now…"

She walks to the door, not looking back. I turn the chair around, wait for the door to slam shut behind her. It does, slightly harder than I thought it would. She must be properly angry. Good!

Alone, finally. I slowly roll over to the bed and begin the exhausting task of getting ready to go to sleep on my own. It was the truth when I told Abe I could manage, I've done bits of this now and then, but it's slow and tiring, and when I finally lie in bed, almost an hour later, I'm aching all over. The room is a mess, and I feel annoyed with myself as I turn off the light and lie back. This will take some practice, but for now I'm exhausted, and all I want to do is sleep.

But sleep won't come. I lie in the dark, staring at the black ceiling, and my mind is full of worry. Where is he? Why did he leave without telling anyone? And what if he doesn't come back?

Did I expect this? Did I want it to happen?

The answer to that is, maybe I should've. Have I made a terrible mistake? Have I broken him, has he cracked?

My plan was to set him free, get him to do something useful again, rather than just run around after an old cripple.

What if I have completely misjudged where he is with his head? What if I have destroyed the only life he's ever felt worth living for?


	13. Chapter 13

_"Rick? You… Oh…"_

 _"Daryl, hey… You alright? Oh no… your arm…and your head… C'mere… Does it hurt?"_

 _"'m fine, 's nothing… Rick!"_

 _"Hey, hey, shhhh…it's ok, we're ok… C'mere, shhh…"_

 _Rick pulls him close when Daryl sits down on the bed, and he comes willingly, lets Rick put his arms around him. It's an awkward angle and it hurts his ribs and shoulder, to be bent over like that, but for the moment he doesn't care, hardly feels it._

 _All he feels is the despair, the horror inside, at seeing Rick lie here, on his back, pale and wan, and knowing he will never again just get up, walk out of this room, on his own._

 _Tears are running down his face hot and fast, but he cries almost silently. Tara, who's brought him to Rick's room, and on whom he leaned heavily all down the hallway, leaves and closes the door behind herself quietly. It's just the two of them now, and for many long minutes Daryl stays in his half lying, half slumped position, with Rick's hands on his back drawing soothing circles, smoothing his shirt, holding him gently._

 _Daryl clings to Rick hard, but eventually becomes aware just how tight his grip is on his lover, and he lets go quickly, terrified to hurt the injured man more. Rick seems to know what's going on in his head, and as Daryl finally straightens up with some difficulty and a small hiss of pain he grips the hunter's right hand with both of his own._

 _Daryl finds he can't look his man in the eye just now, the horror and the guilt are too overwhelming. His eyes roam restlessly over Rick's prone form, unable to settle, unable to take it all in. He is shaking, feeling as if his insides are filled with ice cold water._

 _"Daryl, man, look at me? Hey, c'mon…"_

 _Rick's hands on his tighten, he can feel the touch of familiar fingers, stroking the soft skin on the inside of his wrist._

 _"My fault," he whispers, as if to himself, "it's all my fault…"_

 _"Don't do this, man. It's not true…"_

 _Rick's voice sounds thready, and Daryl knows he's close to tears. He still can't look at Rick. He jerks his hand away, buries it in his own hair, pulls hard._

 _"Daryl, no!"_

 _Rick's yell is hoarse, and it startles Daryl into looking at him properly, at last. Rick's eyes are full of fear, full of despair. He reaches for him again but Daryl backs away._

 _"No…"_

 _"Daryl, it's not your fault. You didn't do this…"_

 _But Daryl shakes his head no, again and again. His hand is still pulling at his hair, he can feel blood trickling from his scalp down the side of his face._

 _"I did this…"_

 _Daryl starts to rock himself, slowly at first, then with increasing force. He presses the palm of his hand hard on his temple, on top of the bandage that's hiding the stitches which the doctor put in to close a nasty gash. The pain is exquisite, and he presses harder, and harder still._

 _"Stop it, now! Tara! TARA! Help!"_

 _The door flies open, and Daryl jumps again. He slides off the bed, hardly noticing what he's doing. Then he pushes himself into the narrow space between bed and wall, draws his legs up as far as he can and hides his face._

 _"Do something!" Rick's voice is panicked, near-hysterical, but Daryl hardly hears him._

 _"C'mon Daryl, let's get you up. It's gonna be fine…" Tara's voice is calm and kind, and Daryl knows vaguely he should listen, she won't hurt him. But he doesn't deserve kindness…_

 _"No use, Tara." That's the doctor. "Here, take his arm… hold him… ouch!"_

 _Daryl lashes out as many hands reach for him, try to hold him down. His fist connects with something soft, and he's free for a moment. But there are stronger hands on him now, holding both his shoulders in an iron grip. He cries out as lightning shoots through his injured arm, his side._

 _"Don't hurt him! Abe, be careful… he's scared, he didn't mean to… please… Daryl, don't fight…"_

 _"'m trying… Daryl, calm down, 'm not gonna hurt ya…" Abe is panting. "Tara, now, quick."_

 _Daryl, still distracted by the pain in his left side, feels a sharp jab to his upper right arm. He cries out again, struggles, but it takes only seconds for his strength to start sapping._

 _"Rick, 'm sorry, s'sorry… I didn' know, I wouldn'…"_

 _Daryl's eyes are starting to mist over. He can hear Rick as if muffled through a wall._

 _"It's ok, Daryl, you're ok… don't fight now. Relax, it'll be ok, I'm here…"_

 _He can still hear Rick talking but no longer understands the words. He tries to fight it, push the impending darkness off him, but it's no use. Strong hands are pulling him up now, he can feel himself being jostled but can't see anything. Something bumps hard into his side and he moans with the pain. Then he's falling, and he's so cold, and then it all stops._


	14. Chapter 14

It's been a week since Daryl moved in with Aaron and Eric. They didn't even need to be asked, Aaron just prepared the guest room for Daryl that first night, and that's where he's been ever since.

It took him a few days to get over the dehydration and sun stroke – "Who gets sun stroke in March, anyway?" Aaron had teased him when he'd looked in on Daryl the first morning – but Daryl didn't mind the excuse to just stay in bed. He felt numb and sick, long after his body had recovered from that crazed day outside the walls.

He had no interest in talking to anyone, or doing anything. He hardly left his room for the best part of that first week. Carol came to see him, but Daryl just turned over on the bed to face the wall, and refused to speak or look at her. She didn't say anything about Rick, guessing that Daryl didn't want to hear that name at the moment.

After she left Daryl couldn't hold back the tears. As soon as he curled himself into a tight ball on top of the covers, hugging his knees tightly to his chest, Aaron was by his side. Daryl felt the mattress descend next to him, then a cool hand on the back of his neck, soothing, stroking his back. He fought the instinct to squirm away and instead tried to relax into the touch. The truth was, it felt real nice. He'd missed the human contact since he'd shut himself off from what is, to all intents and purposes, his family. Rick and Daryl had hardly been apart for such a long time that the proximity and frequent contact with another person had become totally ingrained, even if it still came as a surprise to Daryl just how much he missed it.

He'd cried himself to sleep that night, Aaron staying with him until he dropped off, never speaking, but never letting go of him either. After that, Aaron had kept the others away. Daryl sometimes heard their voices by the door, and Aaron or Eric telling them that right now was not a good time. He was grateful.

Now he's been in this house for seven days, and the last two he's begun joining Eric and Aaron for meals. He's just come into the kitchen now, and sits down by Aaron as Eric pours him a cup of coffee. Aaron smiles at him over his own cup. Daryl has a feeling that his hosts are deliberately toning down their affection for each other when he's in the room. He wishes he was better with words and could tell them he's not bothered if they touch or kiss. He doesn't want anyone else to lose out on his behalf.

"I'm going scouting today, Daryl. We haven't been looking very hard for new people recently, but the supply crew saw this group a few days ago, and they thought these people looked promising, so I think we should take a look at them. Even if we just make sure they're no threat."

He looks at Daryl. "I thought maybe you'd like to come with me? Eric doesn't really fancy it."

Daryl is a bit surprised to find that he's actually quite keen on the idea. He has no interest to go out and do anything within the walls, but he's starting to miss the outdoors. He's no good at spending all his time inside. He's been feeling increasingly restless, not to mention useless, after having his days so packed full with Rick's care for months. So he nods.

"Yeah, sounds good."


	15. Chapter 15

_They have been at the large mansion which serves as Alexandria's clinic and hospital for several weeks already. After his breakdown Daryl needs some time to get over the first sense of horror about what has happened to his lover. As much as everyone, including the doctor, try to reassure him that he is not to blame for Rick's paralysis, and that nothing he could have done differently would have prevented it, he still has a hard time not feeling guilty. He berates himself for moving Rick when he should have known better._

 _"Daryl, the only use in keeping him absolutely immobile would have been if we could have gotten him to a specialist unit in a proper hospital. He would have had to have extensive surgery by a highly skilled team, and even then the chance of him ever walking again would have been small."_

 _It doesn't help that the doc is starting to sound exasperated, explaining this for the fifth or sixth time. None of it makes a difference, in any case. Daryl knows he is to blame, but he also knows that having a breakdown every time he thinks about what happened makes not the smallest difference. Instead, he starts taking over Rick's care bit by bit, learning what he can from the doctor._

 _That first awful night, when they sedated Daryl, Rick insisted they bring a bigger bed into his room, and Daryl awoke from his drugged sleep the next morning in Rick's arms. Being able to share a bed as they are used to helps them both more than all the drugs available to get over the initial shock._

 _After a while the days blur together with pain and frustration. Daryl helps Rick cope during this time of misery, but the never ending obstacles strain them both to their utmost._

 _The only outward sign that anything at all is wrong inside Rick's back is a small bruise, on the spine, halfway up. Right after the accident both Rick and Daryl feel sore to varying degrees, but Rick feels no pain at all below the injury site. After a couple of embarrassing incidents the doctor puts a catheter into his bladder, explaining that as the swelling to the spine goes down Rick will hopefully get enough feeling back for this to be a temporary measure._

 _Daryl insists on learning how to help Rick go to the bathroom and how to best take care of his other physical needs, and as his own injuries heal he takes over more and more of the tasks from Tara, who is training as a nurse and medic. Rick regains some control over his bowel function quickly, and after a few uncomfortable days he and Daryl find an arrangement that neither of them finds too embarrassing._

 _Little do they know that their troubles are only beginning._

 _One night, about ten days after the accident Daryl awakes suddenly in the early hours of the morning. As the last remnants of sleep dissipate he becomes aware of Rick shifting restlessly next to him, moaning quietly every few moments._

 _"Rick, what's up?"_

 _"Nothing, nothing… go back to sleep."_

 _"'s not nothing. I can feel ya shiver… you in pain?"_

 _"I'm sure it'll pass in a bit, don't wor… ow!"_

 _Daryl scrambles out of bed and finds the light switch on the wall. He looks down at Rick, scanning his lover's body for the source of the discomfort he's clearly in. Rick's right hand is pressed against his side, just above the hip, and he's squirming, as if trying to get away from something. Daryl is surprised how forcefully he's moving around, considering he can't move his legs._

 _"Don't, man… careful, y'gonna fall out of bed…"_

 _Daryl reaches for his man, but Rick suddenly screams and curls in on himself. His upper body is trembling as visible spasms surge up and down his right side like snakes. The sight makes Daryl feel sick._

 _"Daryl, oh god… 't hurts…"_

 _There's blood running down Rick's chin, he's bit through his lower lip, fighting the pain. Daryl is rooted to the spot for another second, then runs to the door and yanks it open._

 _"Tara! Doc! Help me!"_

 _His yell echoes through the dark house. Daryl is sure the two women will have heard him, and he hurries back to Rick's side and grabs his lover's hand as it is scrabbling over the blankets. He can see a dark stain spread on the sheets. Rick must have pulled the catheter out in his increasingly violent spasms. Without thinking Daryl clambers onto the bed and wraps his arms around his man._

 _"Rick, 'm here, hold on. I got ya, help's coming, they're coming, it'll stop in a minute. I got ya…"_

 _And Rick wraps his arms around Daryl and holds on hard to Daryl's still sore chest. Daryl is biting his own lip now, tries not to scream, not to move away. He hopes desperately Tara and the doc are coming, and quickly._

 _And then they're there. Tara starts preparing a syringe straight away as the doc checks Rick over. Daryl hears something about pain in truncated nerve endings, neuropathic symptoms and muscle spasms, but he has to use most of his energy and concentration to keep them both from falling off the bed. He holds his lover, who is alternately sobbing and screaming, rocking them both, tears of pain and shock and guilt running down his own face, too._


	16. Chapter 16

"Have you seen Daryl lately?"

I try to make it sound like a throwaway question and keep my voice as neutral as possible. I know I've not been very successful even before I see Carol's expression, half pitying, half smug.

"Not in a while, no. He's not been keen on talking to any of us." _And that's your fault._ This last she doesn't actually say, but I can hear it loud and clear anyway, in the pause she makes before continuing, "And now he's out with Aaron, recruiting. They left yesterday."

I'm surprised and feel fleetingly annoyed. Why did nobody tell me he was back to recruiting? The answer, of course, is that I didn't ask. Any of them would have told me if I had. But I'd been so awful to him, no wonder the others assume I'm not really interested in what he is doing. So why would they volunteer the information?

This is the first time I've mentioned Daryl since the day he moved out. No, I correct myself. Since I drove him out. For the first few days I was almost able to convince myself that I'd done the right thing, that it was better to force him away now, make him hate me, before he lost all of himself in this impossible task of caring for me. When word came that he'd turned up at Aaron's I was relieved he hadn't just disappeared into the wilderness after all. I'd been worried that he'd done just that on the first day when nobody had seen him by sunset.

But after a week I can't hide it from myself any longer, it's too painful: I miss him, every damn second of every single day. At night I dream of him, waking up like from a nightmare, soaked in sweat, my hands searching all around me for his familiar form at my side. I miss the careful, efficient care he takes with me when we get ready in the morning, or go to bed at night. It takes twice as long, washing and dressing and making food on my own, or even with the others' help.

That's not really what I miss the most, or much at all really, if I'm absolutely honest. I'd happily spend three, four times longer again, struggling on my own to look after myself, if I could just have him back. What I miss is not him doing what I find tedious to do for myself. I miss him, his company, his calming presence, his love for me. His eyes on me when I wake up. His hands, supporting, soothing, holding me when everything hurts. His presence that pulls me back from the brink when life becomes unbearable.

And this, right here, is such a brink. Life without him in it is not worth living. But I fear that this realization is too little, too late. He's clearly moved on, found a more meaningful occupation, just as I asked him to do. Who is going to pull me back from the abyss now?

I'm pulled from my contemplation by Abe stomping into the kitchen where Carol and I are sitting at the table. He looks preoccupied.

"Something the matter, Abe?"

He looks at me distractedly. "Not sure, yet… It's a strange thing… Just seen Eric, he stopped me outside, I think he was looking for someone from the council. I said I'd pass on the message so he can get back to the radio…"

"What are you on about, Abe?" Carol huffs impatiently.

Abraham focuses on her more directly. "Aaron and Eric, they stay in touch when one of them goes outside. They always speak at certain times in the day, and for today they'd agreed 9am, before Aaron and…" his eyes flit to me "uh, Daryl start out. Aaron still hasn't been in touch, and Eric can't reach him…"

I look up at Abe as a cold hand clamps over my heart.


	17. Chapter 17

_After that awful night it takes several more weeks before they can be halfway certain to have Rick's pain under control. It always comes at night, and it takes the doc a while to figure out that it's due both to damaged nerves and muscle spasms._

 _Daryl worries constantly about their access to pain medication. All scavenging crews, scouts and recruiters are issued with lists of drugs, both injectable and in pill form, and are instructed to make hospitals, pharmacies and doctors' offices a priority whenever the supply seems to be running low. Daryl knows that everyone complies so willingly simply because of who Rick is, but he doesn't care. They've given this community their all, now it's time to call in some favors._

 _Slowly, too slowly, the attacks grow fewer, lessen in severity. They establish a drug routine that prevents muscle spasms from getting out of hand and that keep the neuropathic pain under more constant control. It's a hard-won success of trial and error, but finally they both feel ready to move back into their bedroom in the corner house._

 _Daryl is grateful for the crash course in medicine and care he's received from the doc, Tara and Carol. Rick is trying to be less of a burden, and as he grows stronger again he slowly regains some independence. The constant pain, however, causes a lot of set-backs, and after a while Daryl notices another worrying trend: the more time passes, the less Rick seems willing to engage with anything outside their very close circle._

 _He does everything the others ask him to do – strength exercises for his arms, physiotherapy with Carol to try and fight the muscle atrophy in his legs, exercises the doc devises to help him improve his bowel and bladder control – but he is completely unwilling to engage with the community, and seems not to care about taking an active part in his emotional and mental recovery._

 _At first Daryl hopes it's just a matter of giving Rick time to adjust, but as the weeks pass he realizes that the lethargy and the total lack of initiative are not shifting. He has no experience with these things, but it becomes painfully obvious that Rick is seriously depressed. They start fighting about Rick's lack of drive, and Rick's mood from day to day becomes another source of constant anxiety for Daryl._

 _Daryl doesn't mention their problems to anyone, but Rick's refusal to engage with life around him means the two of them become increasingly isolated. Even engaging with Carl and Judith seems a chore to Rick now, and the rest of the group take over responsibility for the kids. It hurts Daryl to see Carl upset by his dad's behavior, and Judith clearly missing her dad, but he doesn't have the energy to spare to make it up to them, so he reluctantly lets the others handle it._

 _A second major source of tension in their relationship turns out to be their sex life. Daryl knows it's been on both their minds ever since the accident, but they don't talk about it. Finally, Daryl can't take it any longer. He doesn't know whether he should try and initiate intimacy, or hold off and let Rick take the first step when he's ready. And what if it turns out that Rick's injury has damaged that part of his anatomy to an extent that will make sex impossible forever? It's not the thought that Rick won't be able to give him what he needs, it's the fear of what being impotent would do to his lover's psyche that has Daryl worry constantly._

 _He takes the doc aside and asks her to talk them both through the possible scenarios of what they can expect. He surprises himself by taking that step, and he can see that this came unexpectedly for her as well. He has so many questions, he just can't put them into words._

 _"Jus' y'know, tell us what might happen?"_

 _The doc hides her surprise reasonably well, nods, then smiles at him._

 _"Of course."_

 _So they have another lesson on the anatomy of paralysis. Rick agrees to Daryl's hesitant request of listening to the doc, but he doesn't seem very interested one way or another. It gives Daryl a small stab to see his lover so uninterested in their sex life._

 _Daryl's head is so crammed full already with new and terrifying medical knowledge, he has a hard time listening to the doc without freaking out._

 _She talks about the autonomic nervous system, sensation versus functional arousal and erection, the mechanics of intercourse, and that damn incontinence again. What Daryl comes away with is a feeling of vagueness. It all seems to boil down to, "Well, just see what happens"._

 _What he really hopes to happen never does. It isn't in Daryl's nature to initiate discussions of any kind, and his being unable to talk frankly about sex even with Rick has nothing to do with prudery. Daryl simply needs Rick to take the lead in these talks, and this time he just doesn't._

 _Oh, they try to go back to having sex the moment Rick's pain is somewhat under control. Daryl has less of a problem initiating the actual thing, but as with everything these days Rick doesn't seem to do anything to please himself. He just lets it happen. They try for the first time the night they are back in their own room._

 _It all starts well enough. Daryl has just carried Rick from their en suite to the bed. They are both in their underwear, and to Daryl's surprise Rick holds on to him as he lowers his lover onto the bed. Their eyes meet and Rick holds Daryl's gaze, then gives a small nod._

 _Daryl loses no time and climbs in next to Rick. He's already half hard; just thinking of touching, and being touched, for a reason other than washing and dressing is doing that to him. It's really been too long._

 _His first, hungry kiss is answered with an urgency almost mirroring his own, and pressing close Daryl can feel Rick's growing erection. His heartrate speeds up, and he quickly pulls them both free._

 _After that Rick makes no move to do anything, though. He just lies there, looking bleak as Daryl starts stroking him hesitantly. Daryl feels out of his depth. Usually Rick is an active participant, giving and receiving pleasure willingly. Now, there's nothing. Daryl worries about doing what he'd normally do, in case he hurts his man. Not getting any feedback from Rick doesn't help._

 _He can feel his own erection subsiding, and his hand on Rick's length comes to a stop._

 _"'s it hurting?"_

 _Rick looks at him and shakes his head._

 _"No."_

 _Daryl waits, but nothing else is forthcoming._

 _"Does it feel nice?"_

 _"Sure."_

 _Daryl continues stroking Rick, but all the excitement and urgency has left him. After a few minutes, Rick's hand comes to rest on Daryl's. There is a crease to Rick's brow but whether it's from pain he doesn't know. Daryl pulls back, looks away._

 _"Maybe we're not quite ready, man."_

 _Daryl just nods and pulls both their boxer shorts up again. Rick turns over onto his side without another word._

 _During the night Rick has his first real pain crisis in almost a week. As Daryl rushes out to get the doctor he wonders if that's all there'll be to their life now. Pain and shared loneliness._


	18. Chapter 18

It's getting dark. We've been in Eric and Aaron's living room all day, huddled around the powerful CB radio these two use to stay in touch when one of them is out recruiting.

I look around me into the faces of all the council members, and a good number of Alexandria residents, both from our group and original inhabitants. They keep arriving, we're almost out of space.

The council members have hemmed me in – Deanna is on my right, Carol to my left. Abe, Michonne, Glenn and Maggie are behind us. They got me where they wanted me all along, right in their middle. Their seventh member, the balancing weight in the quorum. That nobody has seriously challenged them to appoint someone else in my place has made me wonder all along. Daryl would say it's cos I'm their leader. The thought of my hunter makes feel cold and sick in equal measure.

We've wasted a whole day here, discussing what to do, fiddling with the blasted radio, and any other radio device we could find. Their parts are littered all around the room, Eugene has been taking some apart to try and build something more powerful. What a useless endeavor! We need to move on, actually do something, now!

"Listen, everyone. We've wasted hours, discussing this and playing with this crap." I gesture at the radios. "We need to go out there and find them. RIGHT NOW!"

"We don't know enough, Rick!"

"And we never will, unless we go out and look for them."

"We don't know where they are…" Deanna sounds weary.

"But we know where they were, and where they should have gone next."

"It's a full day's drive…"

"Or a night."

"It's too dark, we won't be able to see."

I rub my face. We've been over this several times already. It's so frustrating! "If we leave now, we get to their last known location at daybreak. We're wasting time here. My… They are out there, Daryl is out there, and we don't know what happened." _And it's my fault he's out there,_ I add privately. Out loud I continue, "I'm done just sitting here!"

I half turn and look at Abe, raise an eyebrow. He hesitates a moment, then nods. Then I look at Eric, who is sitting right by the radio, looking pale and terrified. He nods as well. I attempt to turn my chair around. The entire council gets up, everyone is looking at me. I glance up at Deanna.

"You can sit here until the sun comes up if you want. We're going out there now."

"Rick, you can't…"

I glare at her. "Watch me. And if you are thinking about trying to stop me, better think again. You _will_ be sorry, I promise you that!"

Carol is already walking toward the door. "I'm getting the weapons."

She also glances at Deanna as if daring her to protest, but the older woman just shakes her head and throws her hands up in defeat as she sits back in her chair.

"I'm getting the van ready." Abe's voice is the most soothing thing I've heard all day. I force myself to exhale deeply, the tension in my body is starting to get painful. Eric looks at me.

"We can get the rest, c'mon. Meds, bandages, water, provisions, maps."

I nod, despite the niggling pain in muscles feeling better than I have all day, now that we're finally doing something. I look around the room, at Maggie and Glenn. Maggie smiles at me.

"Don't worry, Rick. We'll keep this place safe, and the kids."

I nod again, grateful that my family has my back. I wheel my chair around fully and start for the door.

"Let's go, everyone. You know what to do!"


	19. Chapter 19

_"You know I love you, right?"_

 _Rick's hand alights on Daryl's hip in the dark. They've been lying in bed for an hour, both unable to sleep, aware the other is awake too. Daryl doesn't move for a moment. Then he turns around in the pitch black to face his lover. He takes Rick's hand in his and strokes his wrist lightly with his thumb._

 _"Yeah… I guess I do."_

 _Rick's sigh is sad. "Oh Daryl, I'm sorry about what life is like now…"_

 _"'s not your fault. And 'sides, we're alive."_

 _"Yeah, but what kind of life is this? For you? For us? We can't even…"_

 _Daryl can hear the tears in Rick's voice, choking his man. He squeezes his hand harder, then moves closer and pulls Rick into his arms. He wishes he was better with words. Rick comes to him with a shuddering sigh._

 _Carefully, Daryl finds his lover's face in the darkness and wipes away a single tear with gentle fingers. He continues stroking Rick's face, his neck and throat gently, soothingly, but he can feel both their passion building, too._

 _Rick leans his head against Daryl's chest, and Daryl buries his face in Rick's hair. He knows they'd never be able to do this in the light of day, but at this moment it feels just right, and Rick needs it._

 _"I was gonna give y'all a better life…" Rick's voice is a mere whisper against Daryl's chest._

 _"Y'did, man. We're safe, right? The kids, they got a chance now…"_

 _"But you, Daryl. I wanted so much more for you, for us. The accident… this here, it's changed me. I don't like who I am now. You deserve better…"_

 _"Hush, now."_

 _Daryl is surprised at himself. This is not something he's ever said to Rick, or anyone. His mum used to use that phrase to calm him, when he was very small._

 _"None of that matters, Rick. I got you. We're together. We'll manage. That's all there's t'say…"_

 _He can feel Rick shaking in his arms and holds him tighter as his lover cries quietly. He feels Rick's hand wander down onto the front of his boxer shorts. Daryl puts his hand over his lover's gently._

 _"No, man. Not cos you think I need it. It'll come back, when you're ready. 's gonna be right for both of us again soon…"_

 _"I don't deserve you…"_

 _This last is said so quietly Daryl hardly hears it. He kisses the top of Rick's head and relaxes more closely around his man, but doesn't say anything._

 _It's so strange, this is exactly what he used to think about him and Rick. The redneck doesn't deserve this great leader of men. He still thinks so, a lot of the time. It seems not to be as unusual as he thought, feeling undeserving of love._


	20. Chapter 20

We get to their last known location and see immediately that something went horribly wrong here. It's getting light now, we have been on the road all night. We would have been faster if it hadn't been for my stupid treacherous body.

_._

Of all the nights to have another pain crisis this was by far the worst fucking one. Carol knows how to inject me with the drug cocktail the doc has perfected for the flare-ups, and Eric practically forced me to pack it. Maybe he could see the pain on my face even back in Alexandria. He didn't say anything or suggest I stay behind, smart man, but he made sure we had the meds when I needed them.

And boy did I need them. From the moment I couldn't stop from screaming in agony until I was over the pain enough to sit in the cabin of the van again it took almost two hours. I vaguely noticed Abe dispatching a few stray walkers as I lay on my back by the side of the road, waiting for the drugs to take the edge off, or knock me out. Carol used the lowest possible dose, assuming correctly that I would not want to be unconscious when we arrive at our destination.

Ever since Daryl left the house Carol has been pretty cold towards me. This night she sat next to me, held my hand, wiped my brow with a wet cloth while I tried to keep from screaming every time a new spasm seized me. When the drugs finally started to kick in and I was able to focus on something else beside the pain I noticed her there for the first time. She smiled down at me, her face full of pity.

"I owe you an apology."

"How so?"

"You do love him, don't you?"

"More than my own life."

She nodded then, tears in her eyes, and squeezed my shoulder.

_._

Now we stop the van next to the burnt-out wreck that used to be Aaron's car. Nothing is stirring, but nobody moves for a few moments. My heart clenches in horror as I try to see into the wreck. I can't decide from this vantage point whether any of the charred remnants I can see looks like a body. The stink of burnt plastic and rubber that is starting to pervade the cabin is making me feel sick.

Abe is the first to move. He looks into the back of the van through the glassless back wall window of the cabin. Carol and Eric are in there, and I can hear them cock their weapons.

"Let's check it out. Careful, all right? Everyone where I can see them. You," he gives me a stern look, "stay here."

I nod, feeling too numb to reply. I know Abe's right, I must stay put. I'm a huge liability out here, and I hate it.

The other three climb out and approach the wreck.

_._

Twenty minutes later and we're back on the road. There were no bodies in the car, but no clues as to our two men's whereabouts, either. After a brief discussion we decide to scout, as closely as we can, the shortest way back to Alexandria from this location. We will go along the roads and, if we think a sensible shortcut leads through the woods, Carol and Abe will explore those. We're not sure how successful this plan can really be, and whether we'll be able to refuel if this takes too long, but we're all certain that Daryl and Aaron will do their utmost to get back to Alexandria as fast as they can.

In the end it surprises us all just how quickly we succeed in our quest. We are not prepared for what we find.

_._

Call it a hunch, but when we stop at the deserted gas station fifteen or so miles from where we found the wreck I suddenly feel more alert than I have since Carol dosed me up on morphine during the night. There's a prickly feeling to the back of my neck, and I can't decide whether this is a sign of impending danger or not.

Abe and Carol get out first. We've done this half a dozen times now, with buildings, abandoned cars and once or twice when we thought we'd seen movement in the woods. They communicate by glances only as they approach the station shop. Abe gestures, and Carol nods, passing him and approaching the back of the building.

Eric and I watch from the cabin of the van. The idea behind this arrangement is that Eric can start the van quickly, if necessary, to facilitate a quick getaway. Having to sit in here and not even being as much use as that is one of the most painful moments in my life. My hands ball into fists and I can feel sticky wetness as the fingernails pierce skin and draw blood.

I am rent from my self-pity by a yell, and look up in time to see Carol disappear from view behind the gas station. Abe hurries after her, then disappears as well. I look at Eric. His face is grey and I automatically reach for his hand.

Movement by the back of the building again. Abe reappears and comes towards us quickly. He looks at me but I can't read his expression.


	21. Chapter 21

Everyone, you now have a choice. You can either proceed with this chapter, which is **Ending One**.

 **This is the really sad chapter.** If you'd rather read the slightly less sad ending, go to Ending Two now.

Please note, neither ending is particularly happy, but this here, Ending One, will rip your Rickyl heart right out of your body...

You have been warned...

-.-

I feel suddenly cold. Abe's eyes never leave me as he hurries closer. I can't move. Then a second figure comes out from behind the building. It's Aaron. My heart stops, and so does the world.

Abe opens my door. I just stare ahead, see Aaron's step falter. Eric is scrambling to get out of the cabin now. Everything moves in slow motion. Everything is freezing cold. Abe stands next to me, doesn't say anything for a long moment. Then…

"Rick…"

"No."

"Rick… 'm so sorry, man…"

His hand goes up over his mouth. He turns away, stares into the distance. When he turns back to me I look at him. His eyes are full of tears.

"Take me to him."

There's no feeling in me. My entire body is numb now, not just my legs. I don't even know whether I have spoken, whether my lips have moved enough to make a sound. Abe hesitates, then nods. He lifts me out of the seat, and only when we're halfway towards the building do I realize that neither of us thought to get my wheelchair from the van.

I can feel Aaron and Eric's eyes on me as we pass them. Aaron has a big gash on the side of his head, I notice from the corner of my eye. I know he wants to speak, but I'm glad when he doesn't. I don't think my ears could even hear him right now.

He lies on the ground, broken like a doll. Carol cradles his head in her lap, and I can see her tears falling onto his hair. I feel something then, but it's for her, not for us. I feel pity. Carol was closest to him after me, ever since the beginning of it all. Their history bound them together, and she loves him almost as much as I do, I know that.

She looks at me, and her eyes are as mirrors into my own soul.

Abe needs no instructions. He puts me down right next to Carol, and he's so gentle I hardly feel a jolt. I touch Daryl hesitantly on the arm. His jacket is warm from the sun, and that warmth is the first thing that chips away at my composure.

Carol helps me as I attempt to pull him close. She places his head gently into my lap. As she touches the back of his head her hand comes away bloody. So this is how it happened, I think. Shot from behind. He didn't even know it was coming. The thought makes me almost glad.

Not knowing that this was his last breath. Not knowing he would soon feel no pain, no sadness. Not knowing we would never see each other again.

No fear.

No regret.

No hesitation.

His eyes are half closed. They are still, of course, and I know he's no longer in there. But he doesn't look empty. He's still my hunter. My love. My life. He feels like himself, looks like himself, only stiller, much stiller.

It has not even begun to sink in, I know that. The regret, the fear, the guilt. The realization that this is it. The last time I will ever hold him. Ever look at him. There will be nothing, once his body is gone. No children, no brother. No legacy.

And yet, he will never leave me.

As long as I draw breath he will live on. And I will make sure I make this a long life, a productive life, as much as I am able. A life worth living, cos that's what he's worked so hard for. That's what he's given his own life for. Another chance for all of us.

I will live for him, for us. I owe him that.


	22. Chapter 22

This is the slightly less sad option. Wanna have your heart ripped out of your body and stomped on? Then read Ending One.

_._

Abe goes round to the driver's side and Eric opens the door, gets out. I can't hear the words, and am anyway distracted again as two more figures appear from behind the station shop. My mouth is dry, my heart hammers loudly in my ears.

It's Carol, leading Daryl.

I want to jump out, run to them, but of course I can't. Instead I just grip the dashboard hard, my knuckles going white. I stare at him, I can't look away.

He is paper white, I can tell even from here. Carol seems to be supporting most of his weight. Then I see it. His right side is drenched with something dark and sticky, and there is a makeshift bandage high up on his shoulder. No, not again… Has he not suffered enough?

"NO!"

The yell comes from my left and I look over, startled. Eric is clinging to Abe for a moment, then he breaks away, runs towards the building. Abe throws me a look full of anguish and quickly follows Eric. My breath stutters in my throat.

No.

Daryl and Carol have covered about half of the distance towards the van. Only now do I notice how much he's limping. Carol can hardly hold him, I can see how much his strength is sapping with each step. I look more closely at his legs. There is more dark, glistening blood running down from his right thigh, soaking the entire pants leg. A crude tourniquet can't quite stop the blood flowing from this second bullet wound.

I open my window and lean out.

"Take him round the back right away. Then get my chair."

Carol nods and does as I ask without comment. When they pass my side of the car Daryl's eyes meet mine. There are tear streaks on his dirty face but he's not crying now. His eyes are so full of despair, full of pain it breaks my heart. I think he's trying to get closer, tries to speak, but Carol is insistent on getting him into the van and he's too weak to resist.

I don't look through the window as she gets him into the back, just twist my fingers, feeling numb, waiting. I can hear low moans of discomfort, then Daryl yells once. My gut twists, I curse my useless body.

"Carol, be careful!"

"Sorry, sorry… Daryl, I'm so sorry…"

A minute later she reappears with my wheelchair. I'm halfway out of the van before she has quite unfolded it. I look at her.

"Go help Abe. Eric… Oh god… I… I can manage on my own. And hurry, we need to get Daryl back as quickly as we can…"

There are tears on Carol's face. She nods and hurries away.

I lower myself awkwardly into the chair, my muscles spasming painfully. I ignore the discomfort, just wheel myself round the back as fast as I can. Carol has left the door open a crack, and I pull it wide again. Daryl is lying against the wall dividing the cabin from the cargo area. He's half on his side, panting hard, looking at me with feverish eyes.

"Rick… oh Rick… he's dead. Aaron's dead…"

"Shhh, Daryl… I know…" I try to get out of the chair quickly, bump my hip against the van. I feel a dull twinge. This'll be another nice bruise…

Finally I'm on the floor of the van, scooting toward Daryl awkwardly, dragging the bag with supplies from where it's lying by the doors. I come to rest by his side, try to arrange my useless legs so they're not in the way. My eyes are roaming over him quickly as I try to assess the damage. He's shaking badly now, clearly going into shock. I'm pretty useless with most of the medical stuff, but I'll have to try my best.

"Daryl, your leg, it's still bleeding. I'll try and replace that tourniquet, ok?"

He nods, closes his eyes and balls his hands into fists. He and I both know this is gonna hurt. I quickly pull off my belt and loop it round his thigh above the wound. I try to get it as high as I can, vaguely recalling that that's best, but not quite why.

"Ready?"

A stronger shiver goes through him, he's pretty much at the end of his endurance, I can tell. But he nods, and his left hand comes up and grips my shirt hard. I quickly stroke his face a few times, smooth some strands of hair away from his forehead. He feels impossibly hot to the touch.

I take a deep breath and pull the belt as tight as I can. His yell is almost pitiful, he's so weak. His grip on me goes slack, he's passed out. I quickly finish off, then grope in the bag for water. By the time I have found the bottle, wet a piece of cloth and start wiping his face with it he's starting to come round. His eyes are unfocused for a moment, then his hand reaches for me again.

I scoot closer, and as gently as I possibly can help him to raise himself up a little. I hold the water bottle to his lips and he drinks, but quickly starts to cough weakly.

"Easy, easy…"

It's difficult to shift round until I can let him lean against me, but I manage eventually. As he sinks into my chest with a sigh I look at his shoulder. I can clearly see where the bullet entered, but at least the wound has stopped bleeding. I exhale with some relief.

"Y'came f'me…"

His voice is thready and weak, and the tone of wonder in it makes my heart feel heavy. I want to say _Of course I came_ , but the truth is that we're too late, much too late. I find I can't really look at him, even though I can feel his eyes on me, and wonder if this feeling of unease, of wanting to be far, far away is what he so often feels. If it is, it's a horrible feeling.

His left hand is searching for mine with uncoordinated, jerky movements, and I grasp it in both of mine.

"Daryl, I'm so sorry. I got it wrong, so wrong, all of it…"

Now he's the one who squeezes my left hand, then pulls it close against his chest.

"No, man, y'did what y'thought was right… I shouldn't've pushed you t'do things y'weren't ready for…"

"Daryl, you were right, I was being stubborn, for no good reason… I love you, man, and it kills me that I hurt you so much…"

"I love y'too… they came and attacked us in t'night, an'… I couldn't stop thinking we left it like this… was sure… I'd never see ya 'gain…"

His voice is slurred, he can't seem to catch his breath. He closes his eyes, swallows weakly. I stroke his face, and he leans into the touch.

"Rest now, you can tell me later…"

But he shakes his head. He needs to say something else before he'll allow himself a break. There's movement by the back of the van, and we both look round. Eric is standing there, and Abe, and they are bringing Aaron's lifeless body. Daryl clutches my hand even harder and I stroke his back. I can feel him tensing up with misery. His voice shakes as he continues.

"He killed two, Aaron did… third one got'im… straight in t'head. He jus' went down…"

I want him to stop, his breath comes in tiny, painful gasps. But I know he won't, not until he's paid his respect, told Aaron's man that his lover was the hero.

"T'last one got me… but I kept going… he was so brave…"

He slumps in my arms, and I know he can't go on. Eric's eyes are red from crying. He looks at Daryl, more tears rolling down his face. His voice is a mere whisper.

"Thank you for… for not leaving him behind."

Daryl is crying now, too, and so weak. I shift around in the hope to make him more comfortable. I keep stroking his hair as his tears continue to fall.

I watch as the others get Aaron and Eric into the van. My hand is stroking soothing circles on Daryl's back, and I feel both guilty and relieved as Eric cradles Aaron's lifeless form in his arms, tears falling thick and fast.


End file.
